Since Ballangier had mentioned my name, and I, by my silence, had admitted that he was not lying when he said that he knew me, Madame Gerbancourt, her sister, and even Armantine herself, had dropped my arm; and, as a crowd soon collected about us, the first two speedily disappeared, and were lost in the multitude. Armantine also walked away, but I could see that she was still listening. "If it's true that monsieur knows you, and if he chooses to pay your bill," said tall Piaulard, walking toward me, "that makes a difference, and things can be settled without a row." I realized at that moment all the falseness and absurdity of my position; I realized also how foolish it is to be afraid of prejudice and the opinion of gossips. Passing abruptly from shame to anger, I extricated myself roughly from Ballangier's grasp, and, seizing him by the collar, shook him violently. "Yes, I am unfortunate enough to know you!" I cried; "twenty times I have helped you, rescued you from want; but that gives you no right to make demands on me in a public place, when you are drunk. I will do nothing more for you, you wretch! And I forbid you ever to speak to me again!" Excited by anger and disgust, I pushed Ballangier so violently that he fell with a crash among the chairs, at some distance. The crowd, always easily swayed in favor of the man who makes the most noise, began to laugh when the drunken man fell. I heard Monsieur Piaulard's voice threatening his debtor anew, but I was no longer disturbed by that; I had recovered my courage. I pushed my way through the crowd and looked about for Armantine; but the first person I saw was Madame Dauberny, standing in a group of people a few steps away. She seemed to be inquiring what had happened. I paid no attention to Frédérique; it was Madame Sordeville whom I was looking for. I walked on, and ere long I was at a distance from the crowd and from the spot where that sickening scene had taken place. I spied a woman, alone, and walking very fast. It was Armantine. I ran after her, overtook her, and detained her. "Ah! I have found you out at last!" I cried. She turned and looked at me. Her expression was cold, and her manner almost impertinent; she stared at me a moment as if she did not know me, but concluded at last to answer: "Ah! is it you, monsieur? How is it that you didn't stay with your--intimate friend?" "Oh! I trust, madame, that you do not suppose that I associate with that wretch! There are some things, circumstances, which appear very odd, very strange at first sight, but which can easily be explained!" "But I beg you to believe, monsieur, that I do not desire any explanation; you are entirely at liberty to select your friends in whatever social rank you choose." "How strangely you speak to me, madame! What a manner! What icy coldness! What a change in your demeanor!"